The Kingkiller's Women
by Ordgar
Summary: The five women that Eragon Kingkiller bedded; and the one women that stayed with him.


Please know that I'm still working on 'We Can't Hide Anymore'. This is just a little oneshot to keep you entertained until I get chapter six done. It's part a theme of lemony oneshots, were someone sleeps with five lovers and then falls in love with a sixth. You find a lot of these written for 'A Song of Ice and Fire' characters on Archive of our Own. It's also largely inspired by the story _'And the One He Had to Marry'_ by **RetroConverse** on ASOIAF . Go check it out if you like that stuff!

You won't believe the fuss I had in writing this. First it was going to a multi chapter story, called 'The Nine Loves of Eragon Bromsson', with Eragon x nine women. Then it was Eragon x 6 women! I was torn over what to do, and it was my first shot at writing a lemon for publication. Eventually I compromised and settled with this bite sized Eragon x six women story. I may return to this story and rewrite a longer version with individual chapters for each of Eragon's lovers, but for now this is it. Enjoy!

P.S. This is in no way related to 'We Can't Hide Anymore'.

Disclaimer = I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.

_**The Kingkiller's Women**_

_The First; Angela the Witch_

Eragon hadn't expected to become a man so far away from home, in a city as large and foreign to him as Teirm. He also didn't think that his first lover would be a witch and that their coupling was his payment for her revealing his apparently bleak future to him. Eragon had always though, growing up in his quiet village of superstitious and traditionalist peasants, that he'd become a man on his wedding night, with a sweet village girl - maybe Katrina if it hadn't been for Roran - and that his life in the bedroom would have no surprises.

Of course Eragon, being a 15-year-old virgin, didn't complain when the slim yet buxom little witch with firm, round breasts, slim limbs and long curly hair on her head and between her legs requested her pay for his services with his cock.

The sinful nature of his 'deflowering', as Angela described it with great mirth at Eragon's expense, only crossed his mind once, when he was stripped as naked as his birthing day and fondled Angela's assets with eagerness. As sensing his morals were about to interrupt their fun, Angela' quickly pushed them away with her hand and her arm, wet mouth on Eragon's cock. And he thought no more about his uncle's passionate speaking on love, honesty and decency.

Eragon became a man with Angela lowering herself slowly on his short but thick rod, her delicate fingers gripping its base ease her impalement. She rocked and grinded her hips into his until he took the initiative by holding her up by her arse cheeks and slamming his hips up to meet her hers. The noises coming from Angela gave him proof enough that for a first timer, he was going well to please a woman.

His stamina was helped by his finishing in her mouth earlier, so he didn't hold back. By the time they both came Angela was on her back groaning and screaming like a beast. Eragon asked if her should pull out but was reassured that Angela had potions enough to stop hi seed taking root. Eragon filled her womb with his warmth and was rewarded with a gush of her pleasure wetting his inner thighs.

Angela was not the first lover that Eragon expected to have. It wouldn't be wrong to say that Eragon was glad for that.

_The Second; Trianna the Opportunist _

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that in the days after the victory at Farthen Dur, some star-struck or ambitious woman should seek to become the bed mate of the new Shadeslayer. Trianna was clearly the latter of the two, as Eragon could see from the air of cool confidence she gave off. His beloved Saphira made sure to warn him that she was after power and influence though sharing his bed and he should distance himself. He reassured her that he'd have some fun first before putting her in her place before barring his mind from hers.

Trianna was very wanton and open as a lover, even more so than Angela. Her kisses were wet and rushed, as was her mouth on Eragon's cock. Eragon returned the favour with his own mouth to show her he was the dominant one in their coupling, and not powerless under her charms. he reinforced this by taking her from behind, to which she eagerly complied.

Eragon learnt of this technique from one of Murtagh's anecdotes on their travels. At the time Eragon had thought it beastly and disrespectful to a woman to take her with her on her hands and knees, like a bowing slave. As his hips snapped against Trianna's arse cheeks however, Eragon was reminded momentarily of Murtagh's response that it was an offense if the woman enjoyed it. Trianna's moans and pleas for his fuck her harder and faster, Eragon couldn't but think his missing friend had a point.

When he heard Trianna climax, he finished himself on her back. He almost felt shame; shame at how much like a whore he was treating her. When they'd both dressed, Eragon renewed his connection with Saphira.

His dragon roared in Trianna's mind, warning the now terrified and humiliated sorceress that if she spoke a word of their actions or tried to seduce her rider again, she would be begging Saphira to just burn her and get it over with. Realising this was Eragon's doing from his smirk, she simply gave him a death, stomped to the door, spitting "Bastard" before taking her leave, slamming the huge oak door behind her.

Eragon reached out to his dragon to say _I told you I could take care of myself Saphira. There's no danger in having some innocent fun_.

_What innocence? You've lost your claim to that title. 'Oh, oh, Shadeslayer! Yes . . . YES! YES!_

Saphira's impression of Trianna in the throes of passion was disturbing and irritating to say the least. Nevertheless, Eragon always looked back on his night with Trianna with an uncharacteristic smugness.

_The Third; The Varden Brothel Girl_

The Battle of the Burning Plains left Eragon emotionally drained. But the tide of death, the reunion with Roran and the Murtagh's words, all meant little to Eragon compared to the constant ache Arya's rejection had left him with. He'd hoped his apology would give them some closure but instead he failed to sleep well at night, his dreams filled with repeated images of a naked, wanton Arya begging him for him to take her as his.

One night, as Eragon walked to his tent his eye was caught by a solitary woman, dressed in a shabby yellow dress, walking barefoot through the camp. Eragon recognised her as a whore travelling with Varden from Surda when he saw her light brown skin and her raven black hair.

Eragon wasn't a man who typically viewed prostitution as an acceptable part of society or even a necessary evil. So when he strode over to her quickly and asked if she was available, he surprised himself. The whore's eyes lit up when she recognised her new customer and simply replied she was his for the night and followed Eragon quietly to his tent.

Inside the tent Eragon didn't stop to think of his actions or of Arya. Undressing briskly, he turned to face the whore, who seemed to have sensed his anger and her earlier eagerness now seemed replaced with trepidation. His frustration disappearing to be replaced with shame, Eragon did his best to calm the girl, even asking her name, to which she replied "Alanna, milord".

As he pulled the flimsy elbow-and-shin-length dress from her shoulders, to reveal her small, hungry figure, with its small breasts and untamed hair, Eragon felt a disturbing mix of pity and desire for Alanna. Gazing at her fascinated face, Eragon noted she must've been young; nineteen summers at most and very pretty, in the women of her colour often were. The two individuals, their worlds further apart from one another's than they could ever be, locked eyes and for a brief moment, they were perhaps in love.

Eragon had Alanna twice that night and once more in the morning. Each time Eragon took his pleasure from Alanna in each way he wanted. She took him in her mouth and performed the same for her, to which she showed surprise - most of her customers were clearly not so considerate - and immense gratitude, so to speak.

Eragon had Alanna in every way a man could have a woman that night but in the morning he settled himself between her thighs, kissed her tenderly and took her the way a man may take his life's love or a gentle husband his wife. When they were finished Eragon were ashamed and embarrassed to admit he had no money on him but Alanna refused his offer to get her some.

"Last night I enjoyed myself very well milord. This morning you treated me like a proper lady. I wouldn't feel right taking any money off a man for man like that; you did me a favour!"

Eragon's response, a simple stunned stare, was met with a giggle from the still nude Alanna. As he noted her smile, Eragon wondered what Arya's smile would be like after a night of lovemaking.

_The Fourth; The Grateful Lady Lorana_

When Lady Lorana of Feinster asked Eragon to follow her to her chambers, he thought little of it. He thought nothing more when she explained she simply wanted to thank him for destroying Varaug, though he was slightly confused as to why she didn't invite Arya or why they had to move to her chambers.

When they reached her chambers Lorana assured the Nighthawks stationed she wouldn't need guarding whilst Eragon was there. Eragon, though confused played along by stating he'd alert the Urgal and two humans when he was finished with Lay Lorana. Once they'd left Eragon and Lorana entered the room and Lorana requested he lock the door and ward off listeners. Eragon simply replied with a perplexed and suspicious gaze.

"I wish to thank you for your protection of me and my city, Eragon Shadeslayer. I have no gold, no lands, no ornaments to reward you with. So my only payment is my body."

As she spoke Lorana undid the ties at the front of her dress and allowed it to drop to the rush covered floor, leaving her only in a light chemise. Her breathing quickened, helping Eragon to notice her heavy chest under the well fitting material. Eragon was shocked and a little offended that she regarded him as a man willing to use a woman in such a manner, and he told her as such. Lorana simply smiled coyly in response.

"Have no worry my lord Eragon, I'm aware you're a man of honour and a true gentleman. But I'm a woman approaching thirty summers soon and I've been widowed for nigh on five years."

This was news to Eragon, since Lorana certainly wasn't a wilting flower. Her hair was long and dark, her skin smooth and pale, her tight fitting dresses showed her to be curvaceous and buxom and her face had turned the heads of many Varden officers and Surdan nobles. Nevertheless it dawned on Eragon that her ladyship was a woman who longed for male company long kept from her by the stresses and bonds of governorship. being a gentleman, Eragon could hardly refuse her ladyship his comfort.

Although she wouldn't admit it, Eragon suspected that the mature Lorana was excited by the idea of bedding a comely man, younger than her and yet more powerful. Such thoughts brought a smile to his lips as they glided over Lorana's ample hips, thighs and breasts and suckled her rigid pink nipples. He briefly thought of how his aunt Marian and the other village women would've described her ladyship as a woman 'good for breeding', though their voices didn't remain in his head long as Lorana moan and cried for more beneath him as he took her hard and fast, occasionally rolling her heaving mounds beneath his calloused hands.

When he felt his release approaching, he found her little nub of pink flesh - the gods' gift to women as he'd others call it - amidst her womanhood's thick dark curls and gently tapped it several times until Lorana signalled her release with her loudest moan of the night. Eragon pulled out and spilled his seed on her stomach to avoid getting any bastard on her.

When Eragon left the chamber he found the three Nighthawks had returned early to the outside corridor and grinned at him when the saw him. His cheeks warmed as he realised h forgot to place wards to silence their coupling. It was easy however for him to conjure up a small but sizable flame in his palm. This proved adequate warning enough for the Nighthawks, whose smiles quickly fell and they returned to their posts by Lady Lorana's door.

_You still have much to learn little one._ Saphira's sing-song voice rang in his head like a tinkling bell during slumber; irritating.

Eragon made a mental note to try and retain use of his large head for longer, before he devolved bodily control to his little head.

_The Fifth; Elva the Maid_

The arrival of Elva at the gates of New Vroengard was a surprise to say the least. She came over with one of the many convoys of settlers, eager to make a new life with the new order of dragon riders at the new home. New Vroengard would become a bustling metropolis, a new city for all the races of Alagaesia to live together in peaceful coexistence. At least that was the plan.

Even more surprisingly Elva didn't come with any guardian to care for her. She told Eragon she independent and capable of looking after herself. She was slightly cheerier than when they'd last parted. Slightly. She was still open to the horrors and pains of the people around her, but after thirteen years since Eragon's curse, she'd learned to cope better.

Despite being only twelve, her unnatural growth had continued so that she looked twice her age. She explained to Eragon that a prominent elven wise woman had told her that her growth would most likely end there, so that she'd be forever young like the elves and the riders. It was hard for Eragon not to notice her slim form, her buxom chest, her long fingers, her smooth skin, her long silky hair and her high cheek bones. Elva had grown in a beautiful young woman.

The awkwardness between them lingered from their chequered history together. Eragon was unsure how to talk with a girl he'd cursed and doomed to an unnatural fate, but Elva assured him that she held no more ill will. He invited her to dine with him, she accepted, and at the end they drank one too many flagons of wine and Elva revealed her lust for him.

The stunned silence that followed gave Eragon the chance to ponder her words. He realised that her 'lust' was most likely simple infatuation. He was still pining for his true love Arya, but he couldn't help letting his gaze linger on Elva's long, youthful legs. He decided no harm could come from giving a young, lonely girl what she wanted and gently brought his lips to hers.

Neither of them knew how they got to Eragon's bedchamber so quickly or how easily they disrobed but neither cared much as Elva admire Eragon's toned arms, chest, stomach and legs and Eragon cupped Elva's breasts and suckled on their strawberry pink tips. Eragon pleasured her with his mouth to warm her up and she responded with squeals of pleasure and writhing in the sheets. Eragon broke her maidenhood gently, her fingernails digging into his arms as her body tensed. Soon however, Eragon had her bucking her hips to meet his and whimpering his name over and over. By the time they finished together, Elva was riding him like a prize horse, his hands pressing both her breasts together, and both of moaning chanting the other's name.

Again, Eragon offered to remove her curse. Again, she declined.

Three years later, Elva settled with one of the older elven riders named Thrithlyn. She and Eragon never spoke of their night together again. They didn't need to; their ghosts were all laid to rest.

_And The One That Stayed; Arya, The Lover_

_I love you Eragon Bromsson._

Those five words sealed Eragon's position as the most contented man to walk the lands beyond Alagaesia. Arya's smiling eyes and happy tears proved to be more than he could bare, and he claimed her lips with his. Denied from one another for over three decades, the two lovers wasted no time in their kisses and their embrace. Almost inevitably, Arya wrapped her legs around Eragon's slim waist and he carried her to his chambers, dropping her gently but hurriedly onto his bed.

There was no need for more words between them. They knew what they wanted, they knew what had to be said. But that could wait for tonight; tonight they embraced their love in its most pleasurable form. It was impossible to remove their clothes fast enough, their hands shaking as they practically ripped each other's garments from their bodies. Once fully nude Arya forced herself to her hands and knees and eagerly engulfed Eragon's cock with her mouth. Her slurps and her licks and fondling quickly drive Eragon over the edge and he's forced to move her away lest her finish too soon.

He peppers Arya's smooth neck, shoulders, perfect round breasts and flat stomach with feather light kisses, her tiny whimpers music to his ears. He finally returns her favour with his own mouth on the hairless, pink flower between her legs. As he suckles her nectar from her folds, Eragon wishes he could freeze the moment in time so that he never has the warm wetness of Arya's womanhood.

Arya warns of her impending release with her moans increasing in volume and regularity. Eragon ends his ministrations, momentarily shocking and angering her, before gently sliding himself into her.

When they make love for the first time is slow, gentle and loving, like the all the greatest love ballads. Eragon desperately resists the urge to furiously pound away at Arya's loins, but neither of them lasts long as they come undone in each others' arms. After a few minutes of panting and kissing, they recover and Arya straddles Eragon's waist to impale herself on his rod.

She rides him more furiously than she's even ridden any horse into battle and Eragon responds by bucking his hips up to meet hers. This time they last longer, allowing Arya to lower herself to capture Eragon's lips again and rubbed her breasts against his a chest. After their second climax. Arya collapses on Eragon's right side, her arm flopped onto his chest, her legs intertwined with his, and his arms wrapped around her.

_I love you Arya._

_I love you Eragon._

Eragon had known five women before the one he now held tightly in his arms.

The first had been a sharp-tongued witch who'd wanted his body as payment for prophecy, one of which had now come true.

The second had wanted to use him for her own advancement, happy to be his whore if that was the price.

The third had been a common whore for a one night found with him something resembling the love she was denied.

The fourth was a lonely noblewoman with a desire for the young handsome rider who saved her.

The fifth was a girl he'd cursed and yet saved at the same time, granting her an immortal life with her newfound love.

Eragon didn't regret any of these encounters. They'd taught him all the ways to please a woman, to be the best lover he could be to Arya. What was certain though, was that every no matter what the years threw at him and Arya, whatever people said about them and their relationship, whatever struggles they faced in New Vroengard, they would stay together.

Every woman Eragon lay with was a simple stepping stone on his path to his beloved Arya, and as he held her tight in his arms, he promised himself he would never let her go.

_**Fin**_


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